Alone. A loner. I fear, I have no home. A safe place to roam. I pace but don’t go. The Earth is just a loan.
You spend a million moments
wrestling the truth.
Or waste away a thousand wonders
reflecting on your youth.
Regrets fall flat; forget all that.
A search can birth a blossom.
Bud a bloom, a youthful you,
And touch so much; the possible.
You tend to gaze at your own life
through a one-side point-of-view.
Or dig in depths to find the words
when the point is far and through.
You mean so well. You prob’ly know.
It’s more like, “What to do?”
A constant tear and nagging fear.
A dull and digging gloom.
Pretend the world was built for more,
but together it dies too.
A season comes, grows, changes, goes,
and maybe, so do you.
But time can race or stop or slow.
It’s more like, “For who?”
A question. A forward quest in thought,
an answer part of you.
Internal residue of a once free-flowing river.
Now clogged, stagnant and stale.
Speaks lies to you.
Sends you places —
misfit and misguided.
You ask why you’re always the victim.
You can’t deny,
life’s thrown you down.
in the stale sea of feelings, swirling around
with every movement — mix together.
There’s no escape.
Struggling, as your chin bobs,
trying not to go under, you look up.
The sky, a vibrant and beautiful wonder.
Such a peaceful sight
despite your troubles.
Bubbles in your mouth as you blow,
breathe in and choke.
Your eyes close.
Momentarily, you lose sight.
But your eyes open again
to a glimpse of Heaven’s light
The seam between the horizon —
a peek beyond it.
A diminishing moment.
Turns dusk, turns night.
You feel alone.
You could let the darkness consume you.
But you don’t.
That moment of light,
the end of a tunnel — so bright,
exposed your soul.
Possibilities, dreams, hope.
Darkness is always broken by light.
until a little sliver,
waves of glimmer,
reach the shore and your eyes.
Up and out
onto land that’s dry.
Feet firm but ready to fly.
A goodbye —
the faint trail it leaves behind.
I find it, when I turn to look.
A mirage that blocks reality
ripples into what’s seen.
Feelings imprinted through memory.
Glance just briefly.
Mistakes take me — reminiscing.
Remember things into existence.
The faded and dried remnants
of something lost forever —
from a dry, deserted home.
Redemption. . .will never come.
Moments passed without remaining relevant in this life
come back to pierce like a knife.
Completely different — presence sealed in fate.
Dreams are meant to reach — not remake.
Sat back and let it rap.
My flow breaks glass.
Rising to be independently presented
as a metaphor for the risen.
I’ve made a point to present it
with purpose pure and pleasant.
Sent away by mal-intent.
Casted away from Misunderstanding —
I had no chance. My life stirred in resentment.
How could it be?
Seeking more, I flee
from all those who could never interpret me,
see me as a threat,
or once used me so I could never forget
pain from the doubt I once had.
Not for them but for myself.
I thought I was worthless.
So I did things knowing I’d regret.
Vision blurry — so unfocused.
Can’t remember because I went unnoticed.
At least to me. So desperately
wanted to be free.
From this body —
Scrape this cracked skin off of me.
Bleed onto the floor.
No perimeter — free.
Shake this false sense of security.
Break boundaries farther than any eye can see —
Free from identity,
labels and category.
Not defined by others but self proclamation
State and claim
I write to defend against sin we daily live in.
Negativity is sticky —
like a hot, humid day.
It can drag you down and away.
It can drag you into the mountain’s
valleys — an endless “there.”
The farther down the thicker the air.
I write encouragement for courage to sin again.
It will happen. But a different outlook changes the perspective.
Objective. Consider what subject can change direct.
Forgiveness does reflect
from a painful, slow death.
I write to create something beautiful.
Something beautiful, to remember
that such possibilities do exist.
Even when doubt fills your lips.
Even when pins prick your resting nerves —
you get what you deserve.
How can you resist?
Distant death’s a miss.
You’ve escape the bondage.
I write to release — make a cure from a disease.
Personal glory and freedom.
Belief undone from one.
Your consciousness — just be them.
Creation stems to everyone.
If we all would be connected — un-objected,
continuously adjusting and redirecting,
our goals form a beautiful image.
Each piece placed together — a perfect fit.
I write to connect, reflect, and redirect.
It’s a piece of me I share because it’s meant to hear.
Sometimes, just for me, but sometimes, I touch a heart.
The chance to heal. I hold dear.
And that reason is a start.
Hanging from this paper wall — swinging side-to-side.
It seems to be important that my hands hold on tight.
If I hang on long enough, I might, swing to the other side.
Hanging from this paper wall — love’s final desperate cry.
Chasing fantasy, calling it destiny is all I’ve known my whole life.
Comforting is never comfortable and I believe my own lies.
Hanging from this paper wall, I finally said goodbye.
I had to fall to let go; but now my feet can climb.